PHOTOGRAPH
by MissSophieStarr
Summary: Ringo Starr finds an old picture of his long-dead lover, George Harrison, and begins dreaming about the good old days. Something I wrote at the beginning of summer vacation. Not very good because I rushed it, but whatever. Please read the whole thing before reviewing. Please enjoy!


_Ev'ry time I see your face,  
It reminds me of the places we used to go.  
But all I got is a photograph  
And I realise you're not coming back anymore._

I thought I'd make it the day you went away,  
But I can't make it  
Till you come home again to stay

I can't get used to living here,  
While my heart is broke, my tears I cried for you.  
I want you here to have and hold,  
As the years go by and we grow old and grey.

Now you're expecting me to live without you,  
But that's not something that i'm looking forward to.

I can't get used to living here,  
While my heart is broke, my tears I cried for you.  
I want you here to have and hold,  
As the years go by and we grow old and grey

Ev'ry time I see your face,  
It reminds me of the places we used to go.  
But all I got is a photograph  
And I realise you're not coming back anymore...

_Ringo, stop it, it tickles!_

Oh, c'mon baby, ye know ye love it! I teased, giving his chin a little lick.

Aah, stop it! I can't stand it! George squealed.

Ringo sighed, memories of that day running through his head. He was lying in bed, looking at a photograph of him and his ex-boyfriend, George Harrison. It was an old photograph, taken in the Bahamas while they where filming Help!. They were sitting in the sand, wrapped in each other's arms. Ringo was kissing George's neck, and George was laughing and trying to push him off.

Tears welled up in his eyes as his mind began to wander. George was so young and beautiful, Ringo thought. He was so kind and loving, so strange and cosmic...Why did he have to die? Why? George had died of cancer eleven years before, and Ringo missed him terribly. Not a day went by when he didn't wish it was George wrapped in his arms at night instead of Barbra Bach, his wife. Then he thought of his ex-bandmate, John Lennon, and his manager, Brian Epstein. John was shot dead about thirty years ago, and Brian died in '67 when he overdosed on sleeping pills. Why did bad things had to happen to wonderful people? It wasn't fair.

Suddenly, he heard Barbra coming up the stairs. He quickly hid the picture underneath his pillow. He pulled the covers over his head and pretended to be asleep. He heard the door open. "Ringo, honey?" Barbra said softly. "Are you asleep?" Ringo didn't answer and she sighed. She changed into pajamas, clicked off the light, and crawled into bed with her husband. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Ringo snuggled into the pillows, his heart heavy. All he could think about was the day that picture was taken, and George's beautiful smile. George. George...

Sunlight burned my eyes. Birds were chirping loudly. My eyes fluttered open. Something didn't feel right. I looked around the room groggily. Powder blue walls, a white whicker armchair by the door, a painting of a sailboat hanging over a white, wooden dresser. This isn't my bedroom. I sat up and looked around wildly, trying to figure out where the hell I was.

I looked behind me, out the window behind the bed headboard. A white sandy beach, swaying palm trees, beautiful green water, with waves rolling and crashing into the shore. A few people were taking early morning strolls on the beach. One person was playing fetch with their dog. I held my forehead in my hand, trying to calm my myself. I was startled to feel hair covering my forehead. I felt my face. No wrinkles, no beard. What the hell was going on?

My whole body was shaking. I was in a cold sweat. What the hell was going on? Where was I? And why did this room seem so familiar?

Leaning back against the headboard, I noticed a naked figure lying next to me in the sheets, their back to me. All I saw was a bare shoulder and a mop of tousled brown hair.

"Barbra?" I asked.

"Barbra? Who's Barbra?"

The figure sat up. He was skinny, and had a handsome pointed face, thick eyebrows, large ears-No, it couldn't be... "G-George?" I said cautiously. He furrowed his brow accusingly. "Ringo, who's Barbra?" George demanded.

"G-G-George!" I stuttered. "Yer alive!"

He looked startled. "Of course I am." I must've looked horrible, because George's eyes softened. He touched my cheek. "What's wrong, honey? Are ye feelin' okay?" "George..." I took him up in a bear hug, hugging him as tight as I could.  
"Ow! Ringo, yer hurtin' me!" George cried. But I didn't care. I only hugged him tighter. "George, I'm so glad yer alive!" I sobbed. "I've missed ye so much!"

"Ringo, wha' the hell are ye talkin about?

"George, I've had the strangest dream! I dreamt tha' ye and Brian and John-" Brian and John! I realized. Where they alive, too? "Tha' we wha'?" George asked curiously. I quickly scrambled out bed and out of the room. I opened the door. Brian was sitting at a table in the living room, drinking a cup of coffee, and reading the paper. "Good morning." He said, not looking up at me.

"Brian! Yer alive!" I cried. I ran and tackeled him to the ground, hugging him to death. "R-Ringo, you're naked!" Brian yelped. I hugged him tighter. "Oh, Brian, yer okay, yer okay, yer okay!" I sang happily.

George walked into the room, wearing a bathrobe. He saw me and Brian on the floor and gasped,"What the hell are ye doin', Ringo?!" I sat up and laughed. I got up and took George by the hand, waltzing around the room. "Brian's okay, Brian's okay, Brian's okay, Brian's okay." I sang.

Brian got up off the floor and dusted himself off. "Ringo, what's wrong with you? Are you coming down with a fever?"

"I don't know wha's wrong with him," George said as we whirled around a recliner. "This morning he called me 'Barbra'."

Just then Paul and John came in from their bedroom. Paul was rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he walked in, but he stopped when he saw me and George dancing. "What's with all the noi-what the fuck?!"

"...Ringo, why are ye naked?" John gaped.

I stopped dancing and grinned. "Johnny!" I walked towards him, spreading my arms out for a hug. John held his hands up defensively, backing up slowly. "Ringo, what are ye..."

"Give me a hug, John!"

"Wha', no! Ringo, back off!"

I took him in my arms and gave him a hug, only to have him push me away. But I still couldn't help but smile. "Oh, John, I'm so glad yer alive."

"Ringo, what's yer problem?" Paul said angrily. I turned to him and my grin grew wider. "Paul, look at ye! I've almost forgotten wha' ye look like without yer jowels and all those wrinkles! "

John blinked and said, "Ringo what _the fuck_ are ye talkin' about?"

I sighed. "It's a long story."

I walked to the other end of the living room and sat down on the floral-print couch, spreading my legs. Paul wrinkled his nose and sheilded his eyes. "Oh c'mon, man! Put some clothes on!" I looked down at my member. It was very nice, about eight inches long and kind of chubby. I don't what he was complaining about. George sat down beside me and handed me a throw pillow. I layed across my lap. Paul and Brian sat in the armchairs, each one pressed against oppoiste walls.

John sat on the edge of the coffee table, his arms folded. "A'right, Ritch, start at the beginnin' and tell us why the fuck ye've been acting so batshit this mornin'."

I told them all about my dream, about Brian's suicide, John's getting shot, George's cancer, and everything in between. They all looked at me in total disbeleif, each of them gasping in horror or widening their eyes as I told their parts of the story.

"...and then ye and Heather get a divorce, and get joint custody of Beatrice. And that's all that happened 'fore I woke up." I concluded.

"That's one hell of a dream, Ringo." Brian said vaguely.

Paul said, "Christ, no wonder ye've been actin' all crazy."

"Wait, when I'm thirty, I'm gonna have a _perm_?" George sounded dismayed. I kissed George's cheek and said, "Ye looked real sexy with a perm, darling."

Paul cocked his head to one side, his voice filled with awe. "Ringo...are ye pshyic?" I thought for a minute. "No. No, I don't think so. It was a weird dream, is all. None of that stuff is ever going to happen."

"So, this is why you've been acting so weird around us," Brian realized. "You thought we were dead."

"Yeah, except for Paul." I corrected.

"Paul had it worse; he was ugly!" John snorted.

"Shut up, Lennon!" Paul said hotly.

George wrapped his arms around my neck. He bent down his head and we kissed. When he pulled away, he gave me a reassuring, toothy smile. "Don't worry, Ringo. I'll never, ever leave ye. Even when I do die, I'll always be yer sweetheart, forever and ever," He took my right hand, layed over my heart, sliding his hand over mine and locking our fingers.

"I promise."

"Ow!" Ringo cried out. He rubbed his back where Barbra's heels had dug into. "Sorry." She mumbled sleepily, tugging the sheets over her chin. Ringo realized it was Barbra who kicked him. Ringo sat up quickly. He looked around the room, sadness flooding his heart. He was no longer in a hotel room, and George was no longer at his side. He was in his own bedroom, it was Barbra who slept beside him, and he was old again. Ringo buried his face in his pillow, crying softly. It was a dream. George was dead. And he was never coming back. Never. Ringo slid the picture from underneath his pillow. He wiped the tears from his eyes and squinted through the darkness. George smiled back at him, his eyes laughing._ I'll always be yer sweetheart, forever and ever._ Ringo smiled a little. He kissed the photograph on the lips and held it to his heart. In a few minutes, he was asleep.

_...Ev'ry time I see your face,  
It reminds me of the places we used to go.  
But all I got is a photograph  
And I realise you're not coming back anymore..._


End file.
